A Spark of Light
by undeadstoryteller
Summary: Set between episodes 1 and 2 of Series 1. Mitchell has been in a very dark place since Becca's murder, but he's been coming around.


It was going on two weeks now. Ever since Becca had died - brutally murdered, to be accurate, 'died' sounds much too gentle - Mitchell had crawled into himself, unable to face the world. George was content to wait it out; he wouldn't stay in his room forever, he just needed time. Annie was less patient. Maybe offering comfort wouldn't really help, but it seemed better than ignoring the situation. Each time she, against George's wishes, snuck into his room, just to say hello, he was a bit more responsive, a bit more talkative. He was starting to come around. She knew it.

"Mitchell?" Annie poked her head into his room. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed, pretty much the same spot he'd been in the last time.

"Hey," he said, without looking up.

She stepped into the room, a bowl in one hand, a mug in the other. "I thought you might be hungry."

"No thanks," he said, glancing up. "But if that's coffee there, I'll take it."

"It is coffee," she said with a smile. "Just the way you like it." She made her way over and knelt beside him. "Careful, it's hot."

"Thanks, Annie."

"And I made you a pasta. Nothing fancy -"

"You're cooking now?"

"I can cook," she said. "I loved to cook for Owen. I'd never tried it since, you know..." She made a slicing motion with her finger across her neck. "But I figured if I can make tea and coffee, why not food?" She paused, as he gazed into the bowl, looking somewhat impressed. "George said you'd come down and eat if you got hungry... but it's been days, Mitchell."

"I'm not going to starve to death," he said.

"Well," she said. "You used to eat constantly."

Annie noted a faint smile as he took a sip of coffee. "I have a bit of an oral fixation."

She glanced at the overflowing ashtray on the floor beside him. "Clearly."

He set the mug down and took the bowl from her hand. "If you made it for me, I'll try it."

She shifted so her back was to the bed next to him. "I thought I'd try something simple first. You know, because I can't taste the seasonings."

He tasted it. "No, it's good," he said. "It's really good, actually." He continued eating.

"It doesn't need salt?"

"No, it's just right." He paused. "Heh. We've got a full-service ghost."

"Oh yes," she said, with a roll of the eyes, "it's almost as good as having your own robot maid."

He nudged her. "You know we like having you around."

She shrugged, and fiddled with her boot. "I'm not so sure about George."

"No, of course he does! He's just... George. He takes time to warm up to people, you know?"

"How long was it with you?"

He swallowed, and placed the bowl on the floor. "Me? I dunno. That was different. I kind of saved his life, so..."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"And he didn't have _any_ friends. Or even acquaintances. Not one. Can you imagine?"

She looked at him sadly and nodded.

"Oh," he said. "Shit. Yeah. Well, you've got us now. And George thinks you're brilliant."

"Now you're just lying."

"No... he... he doesn't not like you. He's just a bit fussy. And all the mugs of tea..."

"The tea keeps me sane."

"I know," he said. "And it's good for him, to be honest. It's good for him to not have everything perfectly in place."

"And it distracts him from the dishes _you_ leave around."

He laughed. "Yeah."

It was good to see him smiling again. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Long enough for his smile to fade. Annie could almost feel the wave of darkness return, but she didn't know how to stop it.

"Mitchell," she said finally. "What happened to Becca... it wasn't your fault."

He shook his head, staring straight ahead into space. "It was absolutely one hundred percent my fault."

"No," she said. "How could it be a hundred percent your fault? You didn't actually do -"

"I made Lauren into what she is. And I treated her like crap, set her off..." He put his palm on his forehead, as if he was trying to push the memories away. "Oh... and I lured Becca right to her."

"But not on _purpose_," Annie said.

"If Lauren hadn't done it, I might have."

She winced. "Don't say that."

He tapped his fingers on the wood floor. "I thought about it."

Annie shifted uneasily. "But you didn't. Lauren did."

He shook his head and sat silent for a few moments. "When Lauren did it," he said finally, "it was shocking. When it's you, it's not shocking. Not at the time, anyway. But it made me realize... that's not me anymore. It can't be."

"Well, that's good," she said. "Maybe something good... almost good... can come out of it."

"Nothing good can come out of it," he said. "I just thought maybe if I turned Lauren, I wouldn't feel so guilty. But it's so much worse."

"Well, maybe you can teach Lauren to be more like you..."

"I don't think so."

"Why not? You must have had feelings for her."

Mitchell gave her a blank look.

"I mean you... the two of you must have had... you know..."

"Sex?" he said. "Yeah, we had sex..."

"Well, you must have liked her, then!"

He shrugged. "She was... willing..."

"Mitchell, you can't be that detached from people."

He sighed. "I don't really have a choice."

"Of course you have a choice!" She huffed. "All this time I thought you were grieving for Becca, but you're just wallowing in your own self-pity, aren't you?"

Mitchell narrowed his eyes. "Says the ghost girl who keeps a baby journal."

"What?" Annie said, with a gasp. She turned to him. "It's a _life journal_, if you must know, and you have no business looking at it."

"Right. Like I'm not going to look at ghost book just lying about in the open." He glanced at her. "Don't worry, I stopped looking at it after the third page of baby names."

She bit her lip and started to protest, but stopped herself. She sunk down, pulling her knees to her chest. "Do you think I wallow in self-pity?"

He shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "But we all do. George hardly speaks to anyone but us because he's so afraid they'll find out what he is. He didn't deserve what happened to him, and neither did you. A pretty girl, her whole life ahead of her, just ripped away for no reason. It's just senseless." His gaze unfocused, his mind wandering back to dark places.

"You didn't deserve what happened to you, either," Annie said.

"I don't know. I guess not." He blinked. "Lauren didn't deserve it, either. Becca didn't deserve what happened to her, that's for sure." He sighed. "Why didn't I turn her down? What was I thinking?"

"You liked her -"

"You keep saying that like it means something. She was interested in me. She wanted me. I could almost taste it. And she was so nice... but if I liked her for something more than the smell of her blood, I should have realized that it always ends badly. Always. But there's always this part of me that thinks maybe this time will be different. Maybe this is the one who'll change things."

Annie nodded. "That seems like a lot of pressure for a first date," she said. "Maybe you should just try and get to know people as people."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems like you just... overthink it."

They sat, each staring ahead, each lost in their own thoughts, not bothered by the lull in conversation. The silence was interrupted by a knock on the half-open door.

"Annie?" George said, stepping inside. At the sight of her, he clicked his tongue. "I'm sorry, Mitchell, I told her to leave you alone-"

"No, it's fine," Mitchell said. "Look, she cooked for me."

George crossed his arms. "Yes, I noticed. The kitchen is in a state."

Mitchell and Annie looked at each other before Annie got up on her feet. "Yes, well, I was just going down to wash up."

"Yes, you were," George said, his gaze following her as she exited. He look at Mitchell. "Can you believe that? Now she's making even bigger messes than before."

"She's being nice."

"And, by the way, you don't get to look at her and roll your eyes at each other about me." he said. "_We_ are supposed to be looking at each other, and rolling our eyes at _her_." He pointed at the door.

"Oh, for god's sake, George," Mitchell said, getting up. He stretched and peered out the window. "You know, I think Annie's right."

"What? Right? Right about what?"

"We need to socialize more, no strings attached."

"That's a terrible idea. Especially for you."

Mitchell paused. "Thanks."

"Why would you take social advice from a dead woman who's spent years terrorizing people to get rid of them?"

"It was hardly years, and it was hardly _terrorizing_."

"Have you seen her wandering about the house at night?"

Mitchell shrugged, still looking out the window.

"It's creepy," George said. "Or when she just... sits there and stares into space."

Mitchell turned and started rummaging through a pile of clothes for something clean. "We're all creepy, George," he said. "Face it."

George sat down on the edge of the bed. "Just remember what we talked about."

Mitchell sniffed a t-shirt and threw it aside. "What did we talk about?"

"She's a temporary guest in our home. We're not getting attached."

"This is her house," Mitchell said. "And you don't have to educate me on ghosts. I've known a lot more in my life than you have. I know they're transitory. Besides, Annie says I'm 'detached,' so... don't worry about it."

"I know you, Mitchell," George said. "You take death surprisingly badly."

"Well, she's already dead." He held up another shirt and inspected it. "Good enough," he said, tossing it on his shoulder. He looked at George. "I'm taking a shower," he said.

"Well, that's new."

"And you," he pointed, "are going to stop giving Annie a hard time. She's only trying to make things better. And she really likes you, George."

George looked up. "She said that?"

"Yeah, she thinks you're great, of course she does. You need to stop being so negative all the time."

"Oh, here we go."

"What?"

"You lock yourself away for two weeks, then all of a sudden you're running around lecturing me about negativity."

Mitchell pulled the door open to leave. "Don't be stupid, George."


End file.
